


Sexy French Depression

by thimble



Series: SASO 2017 [25]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: It's all going to be fine, he's sure; he's been without Himuro for nearly two decades and had gotten along okay (shoutout to Satsuki for making sure, anyway) so two measly weeks isn't going to change anything.It'll be funny, in retrospect, to see just wrong he is, but he isn't going to be laughing about it until then.[In which Himuro goes on vacation and Aomine tries to keep it together.]





	Sexy French Depression

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=12006633#cmt12006633) prompt.
> 
> also part of [something stupid](http://archiveofourown.org/series/661667), but ao3 only lets you post a work in one series :(

It's not so bad for the first few hours. The fridge and pantry are all well-stocked, he still has some leftovers of Himuro's cooking in tupperwares from the previous week before, and his dick is still tingling from the memory of Himuro's mouth around it from one last goodbye blowjob, so he's feeling pretty good. There is literally no reason to overreact the way he did, internally, when Himuro first told him that he wanted to spend two weeks of summer break in America. Aomine had difficulty picturing fourteen days without Himuro in quick reach for a kiss or a nuzzle or a grope, but he didn't want to blow his savings on a plane ticket either, so he weighed the pros and cons and decided that yeah, that ass isn't spectacular enough for him to empty his bank account on a vacation.   
  
So he saw Himuro off at the airport, with a quip about smacking Kagami in the head for him, and headed back to their apartment all too pleased with his newfound independence. Like, well, Himuro's a secret slob but Aomine's worse, so he can leave around as many dirty socks as he wants, jerk off anywhere he wants without being banished to the bedroom after being told it's unsanitary, and maybe even watch as many NBA reruns as he wants without alternating between games and Himuro's Gossip Girl obsession. It's all going to be fine, he's sure; he's been without Himuro for nearly two decades and had gotten along okay (shoutout to Satsuki for making sure, anyway) so two measly weeks isn't going to change anything.   
  
It'll be funny, in retrospect, to see just wrong he is, but he isn't going to be laughing about it until then.  
  


* * *

  
  
Six hours after Himuro's plane took off, Aomine's already done everything on his agenda that went along with his idea of 'freedom.' Socks littered the floor, basketball was watched, and his dick is out and in hand right on the couch. It's limp, though, because despite the plethora of Himuro's nudes he has on his phone, looking through them only makes him realize how much he misses the real thing.   
  
Dejected and feeling pathetic, he pulls up his Singlehood Sweatpants, as he's dubbed them, and heads to the bedroom, which might've been a mistake given how the sheets haven't been washed and still smelled like Himuro's shampoo, and how one of Himuro's jackets still hung outside the closet like a glaring reminder that he isn't here, and wouldn't be, for another thirteen and a half days.  
  
Life, Aomine realizes, is going to  _suck._  
  


* * *

  
  
When Himuro finally calls him on Skype an unbearable thirty-six hours later, Aomine is too quick to answer, though he masks his eagerness with leaning back against the screen and smirking like his world isn't falling apart.   
  
"How are you?" asks Himuro, and Aomine always liked the way he asked that — like he genuinely wanted to know, which might not apply to everyone but does apply to Aomine, but he's getting off track. Coolly, he says, "I'm cool. How's LA?"  
  
"Hot," says Himuro, though he's grinning like he actually missed the heat wave he used to complain about. "Taiga says hi."  
  
"Did you smack him yet? That's all I wanna know."  
  
"No, not yet, I'll get around to it."  
  
Himuro's still smiling at the screen, so far removed from the guy Aomine first met, so guarded with the movements of his mouth that anyone would've thought his smile belonged in a museum or a safe (and, well, it does, but that's not the point), that it still astounds Aomine daily. Himuro is so open like that for him, because of him, and then his nose starts to tingle and his eyes begin to burn and no, no way is he gonna cry on video, what the fuck.  
  
"Uh, I gotta go. I'm beat," he says, yawning to cover up the crack in his voice. The smile softens, no less fond than before.   
  
"All right, get some rest, Daiki. I'll let you know when I'll call again." Then, after a pause, Himuro adds, "I miss you."  
  
Oh fuck, no.  
  
"Heh," says Aomine in response, hanging up before he can start to bawl.   
  


* * *

  
  
Four days, or ninety-six hours into his Himuro-less existence, Himuro calls again, and it's become impossible to hide the sorry state of things. Aomine clicks the answer button a little slower than before, but it isn't because he's less eager; it's just the lethargy, weighing down his limbs like he's under quicksand. He's in a quagmire, that's right, of his own despair, wallowing in their photos together that one weekend they went to Disneyland, and in the foreign arthouse films Himuro had on the laptop he left behind from his indie phase.  
  
"How are— oh my god, Daiki, what happened to you?"   
  
"You did this," says Aomine, all drawn out and whiny. Then, in what he's certain is an illegal bastardization of the French language, adds,  _"je suis désolé."_  
  
For a moment, Himuro looks like he's torn between concern and amusement. The latter wins out, and his staticky laughter filters through the speakers in what seems like a downright mockery of Aomine's plight.   
  
"You're ridiculous."  
  
"Whatever, I miss you," says Aomine, unable to hold it in any longer. Himuro wasn't about to let it go yet, however.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"I miss you!" exclaims Aomine, feeling a little ridiculous for shouting at a laptop but not more than how embarrassed he is for saying it, and saying it twice, for that matter. "What about you, asshole? Do you miss me?"  
  
Himuro smiles at him, sweet and satiated like after the quickies they'd have in the locker room, and says, "heh."  
  
"I'll kill you."  
  
"Then you'll only miss me more."  
  
Aomine is hit with the realization that Himuro will hold this over his head for an indeterminate amount of time when he returns, and is horrified to also realize that he doesn't even mind, because that'd mean Himuro would be beside him and not an ocean away.  
  
_Je suis désolé_  is fucking spot on.  
  


* * *

  
  
When he picks up Himuro from the airport two agonizing weeks later, he doesn't even go in for a kiss at first. He just throws his arms around Himuro like some kind of octopus and buries his face in his neck and  _breathes_  to tell himself that finally, Himuro's back home.  
  
"Next time," he mutters, loathe to pull away with Himuro stroking his fingers through his hair like that, "take me with you, asshole."  
  
"Of course," says Himuro, laughter soft in Aomine's ear. "I shudder to think of you discovering Wong Kar Wai."  
  
"Who the fuck is— fuck, who cares," says Aomine, lips tracing a path up Himuro's throat and to his mouth, shutting them both up for a few good, blissful seconds, until Aomine's sure that yeah, life's gonna go back to being fantastic again.


End file.
